Within the Shadows
by vandevere
Summary: The CSM's take on certain key events...


Title: Within the Shadows  
Date: 10 Aug '01  
Author: Vandevere  
Rating: PG13 to light R for the occasional naughty word  
Classification: S  
Spoilers: Most-if not all-Mytharc episodes  
Keywords: CSM, CGB, Mom Mulder, Bill Mulder, Fox, Samantha, X  
Summary: Why The Cigarette-Smoking Man did what he did, in his own words

Disclaimer: I don't own them, although I wish I owned the CSM. I'd treat him well!  
Archive: Yes

* * *

**"WITHIN THE SHADOWS"**  
Part I

By Vandevere

Prologue Journal Entries 

Fox Mulder's opinion notwithstanding, I've never gotten much joy from the deeds I've done. They were necessary acts of salvation. Nothing more. But these necessary acts had to be accomplished in absolute secrecy. That was one thing Fox could never get through his head; surprising considering the level of brilliance he usually displays. The people must never be told lest they find out how close we were--and still are--to following the way of the dinosaur.

We had a certain measure of hope from the forties. Roswell, especially, gave us hope. The invaders were just as capable of accidents as we were. I was there when it happened. Just shy of my twentieth birthday, I saw the wreckage of a non-terrestrial vehicle for the first time, and the dead occupants too. To say it was frightening would be to miss the point. It was exhilarating. We had the proof of extra-terrestrial life in our hands. Doctors were on the scene, autopsies performed, and the realization came to us that Life existed, quite literally, in all parts of the galaxy. Then…_then_ we discovered the truth.

These extra-terrestrials hadn't come here on a simple voyage of exploration. They'd been here before the last Ice Age--roughly twenty thousand years ago. And the ship that had crashed wasn't alone. Then we were made aware of their presence, and the _reason_ for their presence.

We'd just won WWII, and--for a while at least--there was nothing we couldn't do. But we didn't know about the Watchers. Not then. Of course, as the years progressed, we became aware that _something_ was going on, that the Roswell ship was only one of many.

Through the fifties and sixties, we tried to come to grips with the kind of threat the Visitors represented. All sorts of "remedies" were proposed. Most remained un-used because they were not attainable. Others were put into practice. The smallpox vaccine was used as a means to gather data on large segments of the population. Another was frozen sperm experiments, which were seen as a way to combat possible extinction. By then, we had a fairly good idea of what we were up against, and repopulation in an underground setting--the feasibility of it, that is--was looked at quite closely. In the end, that project was abandoned, but not before the damage had been done…

Eventually, communication, between us and the invaders--the Colonists--was established. In that lay our greatest hope, and our greatest despair. By getting them to let us work with them, we had a chance to foil them, to find a way (however unlikely that seemed) to find their Achilles Heel, and drive them away. But they hadn't watched us all these years for nothing, they'd learned a lot about what made us tick, and they had a price for letting us work with them…

We had to give them our loved ones, spouses or children. We had to become devils in order to play. But the prize…they'd give us an Alien fetus, which would give us access to the alien genome.

Before you rush to judge us, let me remind you that the Invasion would be accomplished through viral means. Therefore, any defense would need to be of a viral nature too. That alien fetus was truly our only hope. So, we sacrificed our families, in the hope of a better future for all of mankind.

Even now, with Cassandra dead, I still can't tell if I loved her or not. I know what I told Diana. But I also know what I felt when Cassandra begged me to kill her. I could've done it. Easily. And now, looking back on the whole thing, I know I _should _have killed her. I couldn't. I literally…couldn't…do it.

Everything really is--as the philosophers suggest--connected. The El Rico Disaster has its roots in the Sacrifice of '73. And if we could've found a way to do things differently, we would have. But there literally was no choice.

Do I remember those nights? Yes. I remember laying the American Flag before the feet of an Alien invader. I remember watching as Cassandra--and all the others--were taken. And I remember arguing with Bill. I remember all those things…

* * *

11/27/73

It was a choice no one should ever be forced to make. But everyone in the Syndicate had made that choice. Some had chosen blindly, while others had actually made lists. Some had sent their children, whilst others had sent their husbands or wives. But, however the choice was made, it wasn't made lightly. Those who chose knew that to refuse would mean instant destruction of the world, and all that lived upon it. They chose, therefore to sacrifice the few that the many would live.

On the morning of _that day_, the Smoking Man was driving to a place he didn't want to see, to keep an appointment he didn't want to keep. Lighting two Morleys, he passed one to Cassandra. She accepted it with a smile, saying:

"Thanks for the Final Cigarette."

The Smoking Man stopped the car.

"Do you want me to go in your place?" he asked.

"No, Chris." Cassandra shook her head. "You'll be needed for all those _other_ things."

Unlike so many of the other Syndicate members, the Smoking Man had given Cassandra all the information he'd had about what the Colonists were demanding. He and Cassandra had spent the last few days going over all the possibilities inherent in the equation. Whoever the Colonists took would probably end up spending a season, or two, in hell.

Both agreed that whoever was taken should be old enough to understand all the details. Therefore, Jeffrey was _not_ to be considered a candidate. That left it between the Smoking Man and Cassandra. Cassandra was the one who pointed out the Smoking Man's abilities and experience earned in the military and the CIA. He was simply too valuable to be wasted that way. Which meant Cassandra was the only one. She didn't like it. He didn't like it. Neither of them had a choice.

Now the Smoking Man was driving his family to El Rico airbase, knowing that everyone who participated in this was damning their souls doing this. But, if victory could be gotten out of this…

_It would be worth it if we could defeat them, _he thought.

The rest of the trip occurred in silence, for which the Smoking Man was grateful. The silence lay upon them heavily, but words would've weighed more.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. The Elder, the Well-Manicured Man, and the Second Elder were already there. Ronald wasn't. Neither was Bill Mulder.

Opening Cassandra's door, the Smoking Man said:

"Where's Bill?"

"We have a problem," the Elder spoke, his heavy voice so reminiscent of Marlon Brando in 'The Godfather".

"He means Bill's having a problem," the Well-Manicured Man said in those cultivated British tones.

"Is the deal off?" The Smoking Man didn't even dare to hope…

"No," the Elder looked at him. "Did you make your choice?"

"Yes. Cassandra." The Smoking Man said it quietly, as if it were a thing of no importance to him. He certainly didn't want to give the Elder any ideas.

Jeffrey had gotten out of the car with his mother, and was viewing everything with wide eyes. Even a little boy could tell something wasn't quite right. When his mother left to walk up to a group of people who looked sacred, Jeffrey got scared too.

"Mommy! I wanna go with you!" He wailed.

"No you don't." Cassandra lifted the boy and carried him back to the Smoking Man. "Besides, I'll only be gone for a few weeks, and it'll be boring. You'd have nothing to do. And your Daddy would be lonely if you didn't stay with him."

The Smoking Man heard the Elder snort, muttering something under his breath. It sounded a lot like, "If he knew where his Mommy was going, he'd pee his pants".

The Smoking Man almost decked him then and there. But he felt the Well-Manicured Man's hand on his arm, heard the whisper:

"Let it lie."

He let it lie, too engrossed in watching Cassandra as she ruffled Jeffrey's hair.

"You've got to be good and do as your Daddy says. I'll be back in no time and everything will be back to normal."

_No._ The smoking Man thought. _It'll never be normal again._ He watched as Cassandra hugged their son, suggesting that he follow a young man--a guard, really--who would give him cookies and milk. Jeffrey followed the young man, looking back once at his father, mute appeal in his eyes.

_As if I had access to a magic wand_, the Smoking Man thought._ If I did, this would _not _be happening._

He walked up to Cassandra and she came into his arms.

"I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "There's no other way."

"I know, Chris. Just _do_ it. Win this _secret war_ so it won't all be for nothing. Okay?"

"It's time," the Elder said. The Smoking Man released his wife, watched as she joined the group of those who were to be taken. When he turned back to the Elder, he saw the man held a folded American Flag. Holding it out, the Elder said:

"We thought it best that a man with military experience make the surrender."

The Smoking Man accepted the Flag. Then, _they_ were here in a blaze of light…they seemed to come in two distinct types; either tall and gangly, or short and childlike of build. Both types had black eyes…utter black…pitch black eyes bereft of iris or whites…just _huge_ pits of black.

The Smoking Man watched as they walked to a specifically designated mid-point. Then, clutching the Flag in ice-cold fingers, he walked up to the lead Alien. Moving carefully, he laid the Flag on the ground in front of the lead Alien. The Lead alien picked up the Flag with spidery fingers, turned and walked away.

Then, the group Cassandra was with walked up to the Aliens. The Smoking Man saw Cassandra one last time, then…they all were gone, Aliens and Humans, in a blinding flare of light.

Darkness is a relative thing. After that bright light even high noon in a cloudless sky would've seemed dim. At night, with just a few pole-lights here and there, the Smoking Man could almost have believed he was blind. He fumbled in his coat pocket for a cigarette, brought out a pack of matches.

His hands were shaking so badly, he wasted three matches. The Englishman walked up.

"Here," he said, "Let me."

He took the pack of matches in his elegant hands and struck up a light.

The tar was slowly destroying his lungs. The Smoking Man knew this.

_If I don't die of lung cancer, the emphysema will get me instead. But thank god for nicotine. It's as addictive as hell, but it sure calms the nerves._

"Is it done?" he asked, wanting to take his son and go _home._

"Not yet." The Well-Manicured Man's voice held a touch of compassion. The Smoking Man was grateful it was only a touch; more would've broken him.

"What is it?"

"Ronald's just arrived. You're to go with him."

"Where?"

"To the Mulder residence. As I've indicated, there's a problem. Bill tried to force Teena to make the choice."

"You're kidding."

"I assure you, I'm quite serious."

_My god! Does he know about us? Is that why he's punishing Teena?_

"What's the situation now?"

"She's refusing," the Well-Manicured Man replied. "And Bill's refusing to let her refuse. Quite frankly, it's a mess."

_A mess indeed, _the Smoking Man thought._ I never took Bill for a coward. But that seems to be what he is. How can he force _that_ upon his own wife?_

Ronald came up then, worry creasing his features. The Smoking Man nodded to him, then said:

"When do I start?"

"Now," the Englishman replied. He raised a hand to forestall the Smoking Man's objections.

"Don't worry about Jeffrey. Your lad can stay with me while you are doing this…job. I wouldn't mind."

The Smoking Man considered for a moment.

"Thank you," he finally said. Turning to Ronald, he said:

"Where's your car?"

* * *

11/28/73

Ronald parked his car in front of the Mulder house. The Smoking Man, riding shotgun, felt a little more awake than he had when they'd first set out. It helped that Ronald was one of only two that he trusted enough that he could actually fall asleep in his car. The thought brought sadness to the Smoking Man. Ronald was one man he could trust. The other had been Bill Mulder.

_But I betrayed him. With Teena_

He hadn't planned for it to happen, but there it was. One day he was there, she was there, and Bill wasn't. Why it happened he would never be able to figure.

_But it happened._

"You okay, Chris?" Ronald asked.

"Ahh…yes. I'd better go see them."

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to face Bill. And he most definitely didn't want to find himself in the middle of a family quarrel.

_If wishes were fishes…_

He got out of the car, lighting a cigarette as he moved. Bill Mulder came out the front door. They met halfway.

"It's happened?" Bill asked.

"Yes." The Smoking Man realized Bill was drunk. "May I come in? We need to talk. It should be in private."

"Sure. Come on in." The Smoking Man followed Bill back into the house.

Teena and the children--Fox and Samantha--were in the family room. The Smoking Man took the scene in: an eight-year-old girl with a dimpled chin, and a twelve-year-old boy with hazel eyes and a…strong…nose. Both of them were dark of hair, which they got from their mother. Teena looked very much like her daughter. But her dark hair was beginning to go gray prematurely. She looked up at the two men, a mother's protective fury in her eyes. But, when she spoke, her voice was calm.

"Fox? Could you please take Sam upstairs to play for a bit? We have business to discus."

"Sure, Mom," Fox replied. "I've got some old G. I. Joe dolls stashed away somewhere. Sam loves them."

"She does?" The Smoking Man was startled.

"Yeah, Uncle Chris." The boy ruffled his younger sister's hair. "She keeps marrying them to her Barbies."

"They're handsomer than the Kens are," Samantha piped up.

It was too much; the notion of a Barbie doll getting married to a G. I. Joe doll…the Smoking Man started to laugh. He knew it was a hysterical reaction to the stress of the last few days. But there was work to do here.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling himself together.

The children left, Samantha pausing to give her Uncle Chris a kiss on the cheek. She didn't notice the look on Bill's face.

When they were gone, Teena turned the TV off and closed the door.

"I don't want them to hear this," she explained.

_It makes sense,_ the Smoking Man thought. _She doesn't want her children to be alarmed by hearing of one of their parents going away._

Tina turned to Bill, said:

"They're both my children, and I _won't _choose between them!"

"Then maybe your lover should." Bill took a hefty slug of his drink. "Chris?"

"Uhh…" The Smoking Man tried to sort his thoughts out. "You want one of the kids to be taken? But they're too young to understand."

"And who did _you_ choose?" Bill sneered. "Your wife?"

"Yes. I discussed it with her, and we both agreed--"

"You talked it over with her?" Bill was incredulous.

"Yes, Bill." The Smoking Man kept his voice even. "All things considered, she had a right to every bit of information I could give her. Bill, you _can't_ do that to your own children."

"As you know, Chris, I can't offer myself." It was the same deal as with the Smoking Man, Bill's chief value lay in monitoring what they were now calling _The Project,_ as the Smoking Man's chief value lay in being a "good soldier".

Bill continued:

"Teena can't be the one because she's got to be here to take care of whoever stays home. It's got to be either Fox, or Samantha."

"No!" Teena shot to her feet. "Not my babies!"

"Bill…" the Smoking Man began, but Bill cut him off.

"Why did you and Tina do it?"

"Is that what this is all about?" The Smoking Man came to his feet. "Look, if you've got a beef, you take it out on me. All right? Leave the kids out of it. Besides, the _war_ we're fighting isn't about sex or infidelity. In case you're unaware, we're facing Alien invasion here, and _this_ is about the Project, our little _secret war._ About what happened…Teena didn't plan it. And I didn't plan it either. It was an _accident_, for which I am truly _sorry. _But Fox and Samantha have nothing to do with that."

"You're not going to choose?"

"No, Bill. I won't do your dirty work for you. And Teena _can't._ Do it yourself."

"Quit being a coward, eh? Do the _manly_ thing? All right…I choose Sam."

The Smoking Man felt as if he'd been hit on the head with a sledgehammer; quite literally stunned. He could hear Teena saying:

"Not my baby! Oh dear god! Not my baby!"

The Smoking Man didn't know what to think. The only adult available to be taken was Teena. He didn't want her to be taken either, but it was better, morally, to take an adult. A child couldn't possibly understand the _why_ of it all. This…

_Bill is punishing Teena by choosing Samantha; its just vindictiveness on Bill's part. _

But Bill had made his choice, and wasn't going to be swayed. That was clear. The Smoking Man got to his feet. Opening the family-room door, the Smoking Man found an eavesdropper at the door. Fox Mulder backed up against the wall, fear in his eyes. The Smoking Man hid the sudden wave of compassion he felt for the boy.

_And he's the lucky one; although I'll grant that luck is a relative thing._

There were several things he could've said to the boy:

_Take Sam and run for your lives…_

_Forgive us, Fox. We know not what we do…_

_Try to understand, boy. We don't have any choice…_

What he said was this:

"You're a little spy."

Then, he closed the door again.

_Why did I say that?_ He wondered. _A slap across the face would've hurt less._

Tina was still begging Bill to change his mind, to let her go instead. But Bill was adamant about the necessity of her staying to take care of the remaining sibling. And the Smoking Man recognized that further argument was futile. Bill had decided on Samantha, and Samantha it would be.

Opening the door, he looked around. Fox Mulder was nowhere to be found.

_He's probably hiding from my supposed wrath._

The Smoking Man wasn't angry. Not at Fox anyway. Leaving the house, he walked down to Ronald's car. Ronald was still there, totally engrossed in a newspaper crossword puzzle. He glanced up, and then lowered the car window.

"Has he decided?"

"Yes. It's going to be Sam."

"But she's just a kid!" Ronald was horrified by the notion. "Why her?"

The Smoking Man did the arithmetic, counting nine months back from Samantha's birth. The timing wasn't coincidental. And it was more than a little damning…

"She's _mine_," he muttered. "Not Bill's."

"Uhh…" Ronald stopped to put two and two together. "You and Teena were…"

"That's why he chose Sam." A plan had begun to form in the back of the Smoking Man's mind.

_She's mine. Not Bill's. And he's planning to harm the girl…_

"Chris?" Ronald's voice was tentative. "You know I hate it when you get that look in your eyes."

The Smoking Man had a plan.

When he walked back into the house, with Ronald, it was to find that nothing had changed. He'd hoped that Bill would relent. No such luck.

"Where will the Colonists be expecting us to take her? El Rico?" Bill asked.

"Yes," the Smoking Man replied. "It will be done at night."

"As always," Bill grumbled. "And just _who _shall do the deed? Teena, maybe?"

That was going too far…

"Bill? You're one sick mother. Leave Teena out of this."

"Either it's her, or it's you, Chris." Bill was smug with righteous rage. "You decide."

_If Bill forces Teena to do that, it'll kill her. But, if I do it, she'll hate me…_

Well…someone had to take the blame, and it was going to be him.

"Okay, Bill," he took a deep breath, "I'll do it."

"When?" Bill asked.

"At midnight." The Smoking Man lit a Morley to cover the shaking. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to talk to Ronald. And Bill, don't let Fox get involved in this either. I don't know about you, but Fox loves his little sister. Understood?"

Bill mumbled a reply. The Smoking Man assumed it meant, "Yes", nodded, then left to find Ronald. Ronald was in the kitchen, on the phone. He put it back in its cradle as the Smoking Man entered.

"This is _insane,_" Ronald complained. "You're going to get yourself killed, and _her_ too."

"Not if you and your protégé do it right." The Smoking Man responded. "He _does _know what to do. Doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Ronald replied. "He's got an edge on him; very sharp. I just don't like all of what he's got to do. You've got to be out of your mind."

The Smoking Man understood Ronald's reservations. This _was_ a dangerous thing to do. But the Smoking Man was finding it difficult to accept a child being taken. It was funny, in a way. Everyone looked upon Bill as a kindly, gentle man who believed in Justice. The same people who felt that way about Bill Mulder looked at Chris Spender and saw a cold Machiavellian type of person. Of course, both men were hiding behind personae. But looking at Bill, one never quite realized that he could be just as deadly in his own way, as the Smoking Man.

_11:21 PM_. It was time to go. Stubbing out a cigarette, the Smoking Man walked out of the kitchen and up to the stairs. He ignored both Bill's smug, righteous-rage filled features, and Teena's expression of bleak despair; which was somewhat harder to do. Coming to Samantha's bedroom, he paused just inside the door. The child lay sleeping in her bed, unaware of all the horror around her, horror soon to fall upon her.

_And, if I can't find a way to protect her from it, then there is no place in hell that I do not deserve._

Samantha awakened to see him standing by her bed,

"Uncle Chris?"

"Yes, Sam. You've got to get up."

"I'm supposed to stay in bed. Mommy said."

"It's all right. I'm going to take you for a trip. Your Mom said you could."

"Really?" She sat up in her flannel nightgown. "Can Fox come too?"

"Not yet," the Smoking Man temporized. "Maybe tomorrow. But you can go tonight."

He picked her up, stuffed bear and all, and left the room. He didn't see Fox Mulder peeking through the slightly ajar door of his own bedroom. The boy, aptly named for his sly, secretive movements, slipped around corners, staying in shadows as he followed the Smoking Man carrying the drowsy little girl.

Everything looked wrong to Fox's eyes. He knew all the adults, of course, Mom, Dad, and Uncle Chris, and Uncle Ronald. But something _really bad_ had happened. It had started when Uncle Chris had called him a _little spy_. The looks on all of their faces…Dad looked like he hated everyone in the whole world, and Mom was crying. Uncle Ronald looked nervous; as if he expected something _really_ horrible to barge in at any moment, and Uncle Chris…He looked so _cold_, as if he was made of ice. Just looking at the man made Fox feel fear.

Exercising the caution of a mouse in a house of cats, the boy slipped out the back door, and slunk around to the front.

"Which car will you be taking, Chris?" Fox heard his father's voice. Then he heard the reply.

"Ronald's. I'll try to get back by around four. Any later, you'll have to assume that something's gone wrong."

Now that he knew which car, it was relatively easy for Fox to run to the back of the car and slip into the trunk. Just in time too. He heard Uncle Chris; giving Uncle Ronald last-minute instructions, step outside the house. After a few moments, the boy heard the car door open. It was shut a few moments later. Then, the driver's-side door opened…then shut. The engine started, and they were off…

It took a while for the Smoking Man to find the area he, Ronald, and Ronald's protégé had agreed upon. He didn't even reach it until around one in the morning. When the rusty-looking VW van pulled up beside him, he looked at his watch. _1:13 AM. Good, he's punctual. _Now, the plan could unfold.

The idea was that the Smoking Man would give Samantha into the care of Ronald's young protégé--he called himself _X, _in honor of Malcolm X--who would find a _safe_ place for the little girl. Then, _X_ would render the Smoking Man unconscious. The Smoking Man knew several non-lethal ways to do this, and assumed that _X_, although young, knew all the same tricks.

So, the Smoking Man watched as _X_ got out of that battered-looking van. Suddenly, brilliant light, _blindingly_ bright, flared all around…

_Oh my god, _the Smoking Man thought. _It's too late._

He stepped on the accelerator, and the car tore off into the night. The van followed about twenty yards behind. They were all in mortal danger…

The plan had been for _X_ to take Samantha away, and that the Smoking Man would blame the failure of the Colonists to get Samantha upon the _Rebel Colonists._ The Rebels seemed to be the same kind of alien as the Colonists. But, even though they were against the Colonists, they saw Earth in the same way that the Colonists did, as something that belonged to _them,_ and the humans that lived on Earth were just another pest, to be used if possible, and destroyed else wise.

Well…the Rebel Colonists _were _here, their ships, slightly different from the other side's ships, flying overhead. _More to the point,_ the Smoking Man thought, _they are trying to kill us._

It would've been the oddest-looking chase in history. If anyone had been around to see it; a '72 Cadillac, and a '69 VW Van doing over ninety, chased by balls of light in the sky.

The Smoking Man was driving one-handed, holding his right arm protectively over Samantha. He'd heard the screaming.

"It's going to be all right, Sam," he spoke soothingly. "We'll be fine."

Then he noticed she was still asleep, and he could still hear the screaming. He would've stepped on the brakes, but a human figure, in the middle of the road, made him swerve instead…

_X,_ about fifty yards behind, saw it happen. The Cadillac swerved to avoid someone on the road, and went off the road, right into a tree. As for the figure on the road, _X_ knew it was one of _them._ He could tell by the sealed-off facial features. _X_ didn't swerve. He didn't even bother to slow down. At 90 mph, he hit the figure head-on. The body hit the van with a sickening _crunch-thud _and flew over the van to land--dead--behind the van. Stopping the van, _X_ got out and ran down to the Cadillac. There wasn't going to be much time…

Samantha was crying, shaking the shoulder of the man next to her. He lay slumped over the steering wheel, and _X_ saw blood. Checking for a pulse at the base of the man's throat, afraid he wouldn't find it…he relaxed a bit when he found it. It was slow, not very steady. But it was _there._

But he also heard crying from another part of the car. _The trunk?_ Quickly, _X_ ran to the back of the car and opened the trunk.

"_Shit!!"_ he exploded. A boy, around twelve years old, lay in the trunk. Bruised and bloody, he was shivering in pain and fear. And _X_ smelled the smell of gasoline…

Lifting the boy, and carrying him to the van, he called to Samantha:

"Little girl, get out of the car and go to my van."

"But Uncle Chris won't wake up!" Samantha protested.

"Do it, little girl! Now!" _X_ settled the boy inside the Van, and turned back to the car. "I'll get him out."

Samantha got out as _X _ran up to drag the unconscious man from the car. He hefted the man's body over his shoulders and moved as quickly as he could. The concussive shockwave of the explosion sent him off his feet, the roar of the sudden flames destroying the car.

Crawling onto his knees, _X _checked the Smoking Man's pulse. He was still alive. The children scrambled out of the Van, Fox and Samantha both. Then: as they ran up…_LIGHTBLINDINGFRIGHTENINGTERRIBLESOULLIFEHOPESTEALINGLIGHT…_

It was gone. _X_ looked around. The Van was still there. Fox Mulder was still there. The Smoking Man was still there. Samantha was gone…

_X _looked at his watch. _Nine minutes,_ he thought numbly._ I've lost nine minutes._

He heard sirens in the distance, glanced at the burning Cadillac. Yes…if nothing else, the fire would attract the attention of the authorities…

Ronald drove Teena to the hospital, using Bill's car. It was beginning to get light. _He must be tired by now,_ she thought. _All this driving around…_ She was trying not to think of _why_ he was driving her to a hospital. Fox Mulder and Chris Spender--_My god! Chris in a hospital!--_had been admitted around three in the morning. Bill hadn't seen fit to inform her until after 6AM…But the worst was that Samantha was gone…without a trace…

Composing herself, Teena entered the ER.

"Mom!" Her son hurled himself into her arms. He looked _awful,_ as if a very determined somebody had beaten him with sticks. She hugged him back, reassuring herself that he _was _all right. Then, she said:

"Where's Chris?"

"They've got him in ICU, Mom. They say they think he's gonna be fine, but they want him to stay here for a few days. Just so they can be sure. You're going to see him?"

"Yes," Teena replied.

"I've already seen him. Mom, he looks worse than me."

Fox was right. Chris looked worse. The steering wheel had impacted his upper chest and head, breaking ribs and nose in the process. Now, all she could see of him was bruises, bandages, and tubes. He was asleep, at least, not feeling any pain. But she ached to know where Samantha was. Something told her he'd tried to save her little girl. _But, if he did do that, did he succeed?_ There was no way to ask. No way to be sure. And Teena wasn't sure she wanted the truth…

Stepping out into the hall, she looked for Fox. He was gone. Bill was there.

"Where's Fox?" She asked him. "Did you have Ronald take him home?"

"No. I'm having him hypnotized."

"Why?"

"I don't want him remembering this."

"You can't make him forget he had a sister."

"I know that." Bill shook his head at the notion. "No…it's Chris he's going to forget. I don't want that man in my boy's life ever again."

Teena felt a pure wave of fear. _And he was the one I chose to marry._

"You were friends. You can't do that. Not to him or Fox."

"It's being done even as we speak."

Then Bill Mulder turned and walked away, leaving Teena stunned, unable to believe the level of vindictiveness she was seeing.

* * *

Journal entries: CGB Spender

I got out of the hospital just in time to see the Mulder's marriage go down in flames. At least Bill didn't try to fight it. Maybe he realized he'd gone too far…

As for my own marriage…

The abductees--all but one--were returned to their families. Most had no memories of the abductions. Those were the fortunate ones. By and large, they just shrugged and got on with their lives. Another, somewhat smaller group actually remembered some of what had been done to them. Those often suffered breakdowns and the like. One man, in particular, would cause problems years down the line. That was Duane Barry. And if I had known, then, what was to happen later, I'd have killed him myself. 20-20 hindsight is a cruel thing. But even those unfortunate souls weren't the worst of it…

One or two came back with memories. But not of events that _had_ taken place. One such was my wife. Cassandra was returned to me in a state I could only describe as a religious mania. Apparently, she had been abducted by a _very_ friendly group of aliens who were only interested in humanity's spiritual evolution. Although I, myself, lean more toward skepticism and faith in science--now you know why I like Scully, we think alike--I was perfectly happy to accept this new, somewhat air headed version of my wife. But she didn't know me. To her, I was someone else, and her husband was dead…

I'm not sure I get it myself. As far as I could tell, her false memories started with the abduction itself. We were supposedly driving when they stopped the car--anyone who knows abduction scenarios knows Colonists find it very easy to just stop a car. If they don't want you to move, your car dies. It's that simple. Well…we were driving, the car was stopped, and I allegedly panicked, drawing a gun and firing. After the Aliens supposedly killed me, they took her to their ship, the whole thing straight out of "Close Encounters of the Third Kind", which was funny in a way. (I saw it, by the way. And hated it. Aliens_ are_ among us, and--God help us!--they are _not _nice.)

When they brought her back to me, she said:

"Where did they bury Chris? And who are you?"

I didn't, at the time, grasp the significance of this. And things were rendered even more confusing when she got part of her memories back. She finally remembered that her husband hadn't died. But she still didn't realize that I was he. It wasn't until just before El Rico that she remembered everything. But, by then, it was far too late…

But there was a reason for all of this. The Project--the one where we were doing the Colonists' dirty work--was to make a human/alien hybrid. One that would be essentially human, but able to survive the toxic green stuff that the Colonists bleed. The hybrids were supposed to be a slave-race for the Colonists to use. Cassandra was to be their success…

Now, I'd like to make one thing perfectly clear. I _never_ left her or my son. For as long as I could, I stayed in the house with them, and an addition to the household…

This is truly difficult to talk about. When Samantha was returned, they didn't give her back to the Mulder household. They gave her to me. Looking back on it all, I know now that they _should have_ given her back to her family. All manner of tragedy might've been averted that way. But they weren't thinking of that. Maybe they were worried about my loyalty--why give her to me otherwise?--and sought to control me through her. If so, it was all in vain. She ran away in '79, and was…taken…by something…God alone knows where she is. As much as I love her, I hope she's dead. The alternative is too harrowing to contemplate.

When Samantha disappeared, the Consortium decided to break the household apart. It was easy to do. They did to Jeffrey what Bill had done to Fox, and I was no longer a part of Jeffrey's thoughts. Since Cassandra didn't recognize me as her husband, and Jeffery no longer knew I was his father, there wasn't any pressing reason to stay with them. Did I hate what was being done? Yes. Did I fight it? No. Was I--as so many have insisted--a coward only bent on survival?

That was something Fox Mulder believed, for instance. I've risked--and sometimes came very close to losing--my life doing the work I've done. The only consolation I've ever gotten for it is the fact that this work_ had _to be done, and that if I did it, I'd have the reassurance of knowing it was done right. But there was one time when I did a cowardly thing. Cassandra begged me to kill her. This was when we knew she was the perfect hybrid the Colonists wanted. She knew it too, she gotten all her memories back by then. She begged me to kill her, and I couldn't. If she had been anyone else, I'd have been able to do it. I was a killer after all! This was what I did. But, not her…never her…

What makes it worse is that Fox Mulder would've done it. Apparently he was ready to shoot her before Diana and company broke into his apartment.

In the end, the Rebels destroyed the Project, and most of the Consortium. Sometimes I wish I'd died with the others. But I don't have the luxury of dying just yet. I have to continue the fight however I can. I know how to be a good soldier.

Fin


End file.
